Dysania
by The Atomic Cafe
Summary: Stella knew how to comfort Mac when his wedding anniversary came up. It was a long process, one that took years of her learning piece by piece, but she finally understood it.


**Dysania**

**By Dimgwrthien**

Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to CSI: NY or affiliates.

"It's warm," Stella whispered, resting a hand over the arm around her waist. The covers rose and fell with both of their chests as they breathed. It slid over her skin, comforting her.

"I can change the temperature." Mac's words were muffled as he rested his head on his pillow, eyes still closed. Stella could hear exhaustion in his words. It had been a hard enough night for the both of them. June was always the hardest month of the year for them. The twenty-first was the worst day of the year, one that brought back too many painful memories. Stella knew how to comfort Mac when his wedding anniversary came up. It was a long process, one that took years of her learning piece by piece, but she finally understood it. Just keep Mac busy. Busy like he kept himself at work, busy like he always lied he was when she asked him out to a bar….

"It's a good warm," Stella explained, and breathed in deeply. Maybe comforting Mac was good for the both of them. Even though she always stressed herself out for at least a week each June, making sure Mac didn't go over the edge, it felt nice to just lie there with him.

Mac's arm shifted, moving up from her waist to her shoulders. Stella remained under it, fingers playing around his, listening to every sound around her. There was the breathing, the cars around the streets outside, the people walking outside the doors.

"Thanks, Stella," Mac mumbled, shifting a little in the bed to uncover his mouth.

She didn't answer. She became used to the ritual. Take him out for the day, making sure he didn't work. Just bring him back to one of their apartments, treating him to dinner, then just talking. The first year, they stayed away from talk about Claire. Stella knew the look too well whenever Claire came up then, when the wounds were still raw - the subtle change to his jaw as it clenched, the light in his eyes changing just a little, the movement of his eyebrows, the small shake in his hands…. By the second year, Mac would only speak about Claire, telling Stella about each of their anniversaries, their first meeting, their wedding, all of their firsts…. And now, in the third year that Mac couldn't celebrate his anniversary, Stella listened to him talk about nothing at all. He had only said a handful of words, and most of them had just been to fill the empty spaces that Stella couldn't fill up herself.

"I don't want to get up," was her only answer.

Mac sighed and shifted more in the bed so that he could prop himself up on one elbow. "It's almost seven. I'm going to get up."

"Almost seven?" Stella turned around to face him better as he started to climb out of the bed. She noticed that he remained fully dressed down to his socks. "Jesus. What time do you usually get up?"

"Earlier than this."

Stella stretched out slightly, letting her legs hit the bottom of the bed and her arms drift up and behind the pillows. "Get back in bed. It's too early."

Mac was already standing in front of the closet, pulling out a new set of clothes. Stella watched him carefully as he paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. She wanted him back in the bed. It was never sexual or even close to it when they were in bed together. It was simply one of those things Stella knew calmed Mac down. She knew the feeling - a warm body, familiar scent, and the rhythmic breathing of a friend did wonders to how well she slept. And Mac was so hesitant around her. His arms draped carefully over her when he felt daring, just barely touching her skin before she wrapped her arms around them, feeling the skin and muscle underneath.

Mac put his clothes down for a moment, pulling off his socks, one hand on the wall for support. "It's late enough."

Stella pat the bed next to her, still reclined on there. She wanted to coax him in, telling him that it was his anniversary and that he ought to take a break, but she knew that it would do more harm than good. Instead, she just stared him down.

He finally sighed, letting his shoulders drop, then crawled back into the bed, keeping under the covers.

"It's still warm," Stella whispered as he adjusted the blankets, then stopped. Mac's arms fell around her again, this time harder than usual. Stella took a moment to realize that it was a desperate sort of hug, then wrapped her arms around him. Then she realized that he was shaking slightly.

"You alright?" Stella whispered, lips touching his forehead slightly as she spoke. She already knew the answer.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Talk it out," Stella demanded softly. It had been at least a year since she last saw Mac break down, and she knew that it was the usual yearly rotation, the celebration of everything he had loved and lost too soon.

Mac remained silent for a moment, then began talking, his words slow and deliberate, raspy. "It's the same as every year. Same as every day, I guess, but more." Mac broke off, keeping his grip on Stella, eyes trained on the walls.

"It's harder now," Stella finished for it. Mac nodded. She closed her eyes, rubbing his back with one hand as she continued to hold him there. "Relax, Mac. Just relax for now."

Stella never thought of it in the forefront of her mind, but Mac was like a child to her. Even if she didn't take care of him, he needed her at times, as independent as he was. He needed the world to be explained to him a little at a time, have the words put in his mouth. As brilliant as he was in police work, Stella never knew that a man could have so little sense - or wanting - to let go of his thoughts.

"I'll be fine," he told her, but his grip didn't change, and Stella knew that he wouldn't for a while.

Stella almost asked him to talk it out more, but paused. She tried to find better words, then searched her heart as much as possible to understand Mac.

She realized that she never would.

"Do you need to be alone for a minute?" she whispered, still keeping up the slow, steady movement of her hand.

She felt the pressure against her chest as he shook his head. "Could you stay with me for a minute?" he asked. His voice was low, almost ashamed of saying it. Stella tried to find anything else to say.

"Did you want to talk?"

He hesitated for a moment, but shook his head again.

It was a lazy morning, the type that should always come on a Saturday morning after a week of working. The sun should have been peering over the smog-filled sky of New York, glistening on the busy cars and the busy hum of the industrialized city. There should have been people in Chinatown selling little things as the boys from Staten Island got on the subway for a visit. There should have been the catcalls of the crowd as the street gamblers made bets. There should have been the clinking of shoes in a polished hallway as the businessmen and women tried to shove in a few extra hours before they went on their weekend vacations. Instead, there was just the start of rain with its crisp and so very damp smell. There was just the sounds of Stella's hand on fabric, trying to find a way to comfort a man who would never admit to anything being wrong. Instead, there was just a million things that they both wanted to say, but neither could find the right words for that wrong day.


End file.
